Sayid's Quartet Sayid, Kate, Sun, Shannon, Claire
by purple-goose
Summary: What do the women see when they look at Sayid? Cowritten with IslandPalm
1. Sayid's Eyes

**Title:** Sayid's Quartet

**Rating:** (M)

**Summary:** Just what do the women of the island see when they see Sayid?

**Featured Characters:** Sayid, Kate, Sun, Shannon, Claire

**Authors:** islandpalm, purplegoose

**Spoilers**: In Translation; Confidence Man; but not really

**Status of Fic:** complete

**Author's Notes/Disclaimer: We do not own the characters in this story, nor do we own any rights to the television show "Lost". They were created by JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and they belong to them, Touchstone, and ABC. **

**Sayid's Quartet**

**Sayid's Eyes**

Kate

She stared down at the hand he had just kissed. Maybe chivalry wasn't dead after all. She turned to watch as he walked away, the long expanse of beach ahead of him. She wanted him to return, so she could look into his eyes one more time. Those dark soulful eyes that pierced hers as he told her he needed to be someone else. Someone other than the man he once was, someone other than the man he had been today.

If he gazed at her long enough, she might confess too. She had just kissed a man she hated, and liked it a little too much. That was the least of it. She had much more to tell. She could tell him she also wanted to be someone else. What was it about his eyes that made her weak? That could make her reveal everything?

Just now his eyes had been introspective, longing to put his life in order. They were different earlier. Earlier, they were filled with rage at Sawyer's refusal to turn over the inhalers. She knew the rage stemmed from a desire to help, but the anger in his eyes was palpable, and yet they were still hauntingly beautiful. She cursed Jack for not reigning Sayid in. He could have. He chose not to. If he had, maybe Sayid would still be standing in front of her with those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

She smiled momentarily as she thought about the way his eyes rolled when Shannon and Boone announced they were tagging along in the search for high ground. The expression on his face was priceless and she really did her best to discourage Shannon. Next image: Sayid completely elated at getting bars on the transceiver. His eyes absolutely danced with joy. They lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, probably not the most fitting description for Sayid. She tried to hold onto that image, his hopeful dancing eyes.

But her mind always came back to his dark and sultry eyes…dark, sultry, and brooding. Those were the eyes she longed to see again, the eyes that could see down into her soul, or what was left of it. If he came back, maybe his dark soulful eyes would hold compassion as she told him she needed to be someone else, too.


	2. Sayid's Hands

**Sayid's Hands**

_following "In Translation "_

Sun

The ground always pleased her. It was never hard or harsh here as she lowered her forehead against it. Today it felt cool to her skin through her bangs, with a slight dampness; comforting in its sameness.

She slid her hands, palms up, along the terrain the length of her folded body towards her bottom. She breathed slowly, deeply, noting the rich smell of earth. She pressed her stomach against her thighs, compressing on the inhalations, relaxing on the exhalations. In. Out. Tight. Loose.

She stopped her breath, and counted evenly, noting the stretch of muscle in her back, her thighs, the crumbles of sand and earth against her forehead, the tops of her hands. She concluded the count and resumed breathing. She pulled her arms forward, and using her hands as little as possible, straightened her back to a kneeling position. Whole. Done.

Sun brushed her bangs and forehead, her hands lightly, and looked at her garden in the early morning light. The quiet satisfaction it provided was still there, waiting for her.

She studied the growth before her, the variations since yesterday, what area required care. She was pleased to see that nothing had wreaked havoc here in the night. No plants were trampled, no stalks snapped. Despite all that was going on away from the garden, here all was well.

Sun smiled, trying to ease the quiet of this place into her spirit. It was good to be in a place of contentment. Performing the daily pattern would help to return to that state. At least while she was here.

She uncurled her legs and moved to a corner, near the herbals. Weeding was done right to left. Watering left to right. Balance for east and west. Here there was harmony. Here the language spoken was not. Secrets did not exist. There was no need for forgiveness.

She reached, again appreciating the pull of muscles, and decisively plucked a weed near the row of bitter ginger. She placed the offending plant beside her and reached for the next. After clearing the meadowsweet of weeds, she allowed herself the joy of raking her fingers in the soil, catching some in her palm. She lifted her hand to her face and inhaled. This was the smell of life's simplicity. She examined the small clumps adhering to her fingers, feeling her eyes swim. She lowered her hand and gently scattered its contents. She rubbed her thumb and index finger together until her throat opened.

She addressed the betony. Using her left hand, she wrapped her fingers around the hairy stalk, tenderly bending it to achieve better grasp of a weed with her right. The betony's hair was coarse, and prickled her palm.

"Sun." An accented male voice broke the quiet.

The sound caused her to start, pulling weed and herb alike. She tried to climb to her feet while turning to face the danger, resulting in neither, landing flat on her back. She looked up into the face of Sayid, the two plants clutched to her chest, her eyes huge in her face.

"Are you all right?" he squatted next to her. His slid a hand under her shoulder, covered her wrist with the other hand, and helped her to a sitting position. "I'm very sorry. I didn't intend to frighten you." His face creased in contrition and concern.

She thought to close her mouth, and began to breathe deeply to quiet the heaving of her chest. She was aware that she had to appear ridiculous, and cursed adrenalin's effects, wishing to simply disappear.

"Yes," she gasped. "I am fine." He released her wrist, but remained next to her. "I was …working," she gestured with the plants, twisting slightly at the waist, towards the plot. "In the garden."

She had nothing to conceal anymore, yet his presence made her nervous. This was, after all, the man who declared that she understood more than Korean. Fortunately, or perhaps not, no one had heeded him. If they had, perhaps Jin would not have been beaten so by Michael. Perhaps she and Jin…… She allowed the thought to wilt and die.

Despite her newly cleared slate, his ability to observe what others missed made Sun uncomfortable.

He looked past her shoulder to the straight rows, and nodded. He removed the hand from her shoulder. His gaze returned to hers. "Would you like some water?"

She nodded, mute. Her breathing was returning to normal.

He shrugged the ubiquitous knapsack to the ground, and after some rooting, produced a bottle of water. Sayid unscrewed the cap and offered it to her.

She tossed the weed to the small pile now on her left and reached to accept. His fingers brushed hers as the bottle was passed. She distantly noted their warmth, as she drank a small mouthful. The water did help. Sun placed the container on the ground and dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I came for some yarrow," he stood and studied the garden now.

Did he know the herb's appearance?

"Jack said that his supply is exhausted, and you are cultivating a crop." He returned his gaze to her.

"Do you have a headache?" she asked, noticing for the first time the look of strain about his eyes. She turned to face the herbs and tucked her legs under her.

Yarrow was in the row closest to her, its pleasantly fragrant white flower at face level. She laid the displaced betony near the water bottle, and slipped the fingers of both hands under a flower's base.

"Yes." Sayid collected the betony and crouched beside her.

She pulled the flower from the stalk, and placed it carefully between them. "Did you know that it's also called Soldier's woundwort?" She glanced at him, adding a few leaves to the flower.

His eyes were amused as he shook his head,

Sun looked back to the plants. She could feel him watching her hands. "It's more effective dried. You'll need to make an infusion."

His steady gaze was unsettling. She was not accustomed to such scrutiny since leaving Korea.

"I haven't had tea since we crashed," he said slowly, almost as a revelation to himself. "Will I need to down it quickly as a child, or will I be able to sit on the beach and sip?"

She looked at his face. His eyes were still trained on her. He was smiling softly. Easily she could picture the child in him with that smile. Her lips turned up in response. "You should ask Locke for some honey. It is more ….tasty?... that way."

Sayid looked at the plant in his hands. He leaned from the waist, reaching to the small pile of earth from which the betony had been plucked. He carefully brushed it to one side, then burrowed with his fingers into the soil.

Sun watched his hand as he dug. His skin was such a deep, warm color, reminding her of wild flower honey. His long fingers loosened the soil easily. He scooped a handful and carefully positioned it to the side. He moved with an ease that fit here. Another scoop, more soil.

He set the plant into the hole, then continued to hold the stalk, while deliberately pressing the small tangle of roots beneath the surface with the other hand. She stared at the bones of his hands, as they seemed to dance with the movements of his fingers; silky, dark hairs lightly tangling beneath the bone of his wrists.

He lightly patted around the flora and rested back on his heels, dusting his hands together. His left arm dropped to his side as he rubbed his thumb in a run across the pads of his fingers.

"Thank you," said Sun, feeling her pulse quicken. She swallowed and looked at him with a sideways glance. His eyes met hers. Moments passed. She looked back to his hand.

It was still but relaxed, fingers curled loosely.

Without effort, she could feel his hand touching her, cupping her breast, tracing her chin. She closed her eyes and could feel the whisper of a finger on her eyebrow, the tip of her ear. Would he taste sweet, like honey, as she guided his finger into her mouth with her tongue?

Sun opened her eyes, taking great care to direct her gaze to the garden. She swallowed again, and dampened her lips with her tongue.

"Do I take all of this?" He broke the silence.

She slowly turned her face to see that he was holding the flowers and leaves in his palm, and nodded. "Yes. It's not dried so you need more." She kept her lids shuttered.

"Thank you." She heard the backpack settle into place.

"If you see Jack, you can tell him that I'll bring a new supply to the caves later." She needed him to go; yet she was detaining him.

"If I see him."

Sun steeled herself and looked up at him. "Don't forget to see Locke."

He nodded, "Yes." He turned and started back into the jungle.

Sun watched him disappear, heading towards the beach. She allowed her back to curve and hoped that he wasn't being so observant this time.


	3. Sayid's Navel

**Sayid's Navel**

Shannon

For a change it was Shannon's turn to look out for him. He was always looking out for her, even when she kept him at a distance. He paid careful attention to her needs, as she struggled to help launch the raft, struggled to carry luggage across the beach, struggled to come to terms with Boone's death, struggled to breathe. He was always there, keeping an eye out, making sure the struggle didn't completely consume her.

He looked exhausted when he returned with Charlie and Aaron. Yet he had never looked better to her. He was home and unhurt. He just needed some rest. She promised she would wait for Kate and Jack to return from the hatch. She would wake him immediately as long as he promised to close his eyes for a short time. Sayid looked peaceful now as he slept, the worried expression gone from his face.

It had been a long time since he looked even remotely relaxed. Not since the night before Boone's death, when he told her he had "hopes not expectations." Even now, it made her smile. He had no idea how much that simple phrase meant to her. Everyone in Shannon's life had expectations: Sabrina, Boone, her first husband, the endless parade of men she entertained. They all expected her to be, and look, and act the role of pretty little rich girl. Her "dates" certainly expected the sex that almost always followed. He was different. He had hopes. Maybe she could have them too.

She thought back to the first time she noticed him, really noticed him. Long before they talked about translating maps or bowline knots. Jack asked her if she could stop tanning long enough to get Sayid some bottled water. He was chopping wood in the jungle and in danger of dehydrating in the afternoon sun. Jack shot her a look that needed no explanation. Try being useful for a change, Shannon.

She came upon the clearing where Sayid was working. It was oppressively hot. Thank God he was willing to chop the wood for the signal fire because there was no way she would even bother to try. He hadn't seen her yet. He was too engrossed in whacking the hell out of a piece of wood. She wouldn't want to be the one to piss this guy off. What was Sawyer thinking?

He raised his arms high above his head. She couldn't help but notice that he had great shoulders. He groaned as the axe came down with a shattering blow. His mocha skin glistened in the afternoon sun as he raised his arms again.

This time his t-shirt rode up just high enough to expose the dark hairs around his navel. The sweat dripping down his chest followed the line of hair past his abdomen. She found herself following the droplet as it moved ever lower. He called out her name, just in the nick of time, before she found herself totally immersed in the fantasy.

Sayid asked if the bottle she held out was for him. "He was in dire need of some refreshment." She liked the way he spoke. His speech was so formal. It made him sound like he just stepped out of a 1950's movie, Casablanca maybe. He thanked her for the water.

As he reached to take the bottle with one hand, the other pulled the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe the moisture on his face, once again exposing his dark toned body. He brought the bottle to his lips. He closed his eyes as he quenched his thirst. Shannon drew in a deep breath, realizing for the first time that her own thirst needed quenching.

Funny how that memory stayed with her. What was it she felt for him that afternoon? Lust probably. She certainly didn't know him well enough for it to have been anything else. What did she feel for him now?

She gently touched his face taking great care not to wake him. She was afraid to name it. Whatever this feeling was she didn't want it to stop. With any luck maybe he could feel something for her again. For now she was content to watch over him as he slept. Tomorrow would be a new beginning.


	4. Sayid's Back

**Sayid's Back**

_Immediately before "Exodus I"_

Claire

It didn't make sense.

She wasn't interested in him. Not as a man. He was just too old for her. She was too young for him, and she had a child now, and there was no time to watch him walk like a solider, back straight, chin high, down the beach or up the beach, or at the fire with arms muscled like some …. really well muscled man, tossing logs to keep the fire going and attract someone's attention. With the fire. Not her attention with his body. Not make her body burn with fire for his body. Not that. Not that at all.

She wouldn't even look at him if they weren't on the island. Probably. Not much. Not obviously, any way.

It was hormones. Post pregnancy hormones. She was just tired. Really tired. She was up four times with the baby since dusk last night. It was a good thing that she didn't wear a watch so she didn't know how much sleep she was losing because then she'd really be tired.

All new mothers were tired, everyone said so. The baby wouldn't sleep. He cried a lot. Nursing wasn't the sweet, peaceful experience with a rosy sheen on her skin and a serene Madonna smile on her mouth as she stroked the baby's sweet baby head, not like the magazine pictures colored it to be. She got a lot of advice from the mothers or the aunts or their mothers' aunts on how to make him stop crying how to make him sleep how to make him eat how he should be at this age… What age? He was just born.

Sayid didn't offer advice.

He just smiled.

Even with her being large and lumpy and leaky, and sore bits that tight-bottled Jack wouldn't give her pills for so she walked funny, and her skin all splotchy, and her chest the size of her belly, and her moods making her act like a fruit loop.

He smiled.

When she was frowning like a frog as she patted Aaron's bum so he would be quiet just for a moment please sweetie please, or red with frustration as she changed another sopping nappie and why weren't there ever enough nappies, or frazzled into a witchy haired Virgo because washing nappies on this island was the hottest job she never dreamed of doing, he would walk by and smile.

She really didn't keep the flap of the shelter up just for that smile. Not really. It was cooler. Even when the baby was napping, it was cooler and the sound of the waves should make him sleep better, so the flap stayed up. For the temperature.

Sayid's smile felt cool, smooth, not frustrated; not blond and chirpy with aggravating goodwill and Saint Bernard puppy helpfulness that got in the way when she was trying to hang the dratted nappies and demanded, yes Charlie, demanded attention at the wrongest of times, and she'd bet he'd never let her cry herself ugly before pulling her into his arms, mind Aaron there, and making it all feel better because he was grown up and all together and all doing. And pretty. No, he wasn't pretty. He was beautiful.

But since he was too old and she wasn't watching him, it didn't matter. Besides, he was Shannon's.

So why was she standing here after her morning trek back from the privy without a seat, being quiet, behind a tree, so early in the morning that they were the only ones up, watching him feed the fire? Oh yeah, they were the only ones up.

And he had his shirt off.

She suspected all along that Sayid would look good without a shirt. Again, not consciously watching the guy. Man. Old man. But the singlet he wore left little to the imagination. So it wasn't like she dwelled on it but when glancing at those arms – she really had to come up with a word better than muscley, but if she came up with a word better than muscley didn't that mean she was actually watching him? – that lead right to that chest which had the nicest bit of hair curling at the neckline of that singlet, she wouldn't be a girl if she didn't wonder how the rest the package would be.

And now she knew.

Breath taking.

It truly knocked the breath right out of her.

But what she didn't expect and no way could prepare for was his back, because who looked at backs unless it was the bum? Now she knew: she would, if it was Sayid's. In the hypothetical, of course. In reality, his back made her turn around and lean against the tree that she was hiding behind, and fan her face.

His back was satin. Absolutely satin. So smooth that her fingers ached to stroke, she meant touch, no, no she didn't, never mind she had to lower the hand that was reaching without her being aware of moving.

She turned to face the fire, resting her shoulder against the tree. She could gasp later.

He was lifting a log – a nice, big, heavy log - that caused that satin to ripple. She never got the word before, ripple, always pictured ice cream, but never again. His shoulder blades sculpted with his effort, capped by rounded shoulder muscles. The chords in his back were stretched, pronounced, and moving that satin – that peanut butter colored satin – so that the curve of his spine was outlined and made the length of his back a track for her tongue to slide, slowly, softly, to the dip of his lower back to end in a kiss. The same lower back, flattened by his waist looked the best place to clasp her hands to pull him closer when lying under him……

The baby began to cry.

Claire thought about joining him.

Sayid looked to her shelter. He reached for his shirt from the sand, and pulled it on.

She wanted to cry harder. Instead she took some deep breaths, thought of England which lead to Charlie who wasn't peanut butter at all, not really. Calm, cool, yes cool, she was cool, she stepped from the jungle, aware his eyes were probably on her back as she stepped into the tent.


	5. Coda: Sayid's Lips

**Coda: Sayids Quartet **

**Sayid's Lips**

Shannon

She thought about kissing him way too often. She was thinking about kissing him right now, on the mouth. Maybe she had been in the heat or the jungle for too long. She needed to get her priorities straight. There were important matters that needed attention- if only she could remember what they were.

Umm…yes, Sayids lips. He had great lips, they were so nicely framed by his beard, and she loved watching the curve of his mouth as he enunciated each word so beautifully.

Sometimes his words worked in combinations and said things that she wanted to hear. Other times he said nothing and she liked that if it meant his lips were doing something else. Right now, he was talking and the words were not working at all. What was it that he was talking to her about? Transceivers, transformers, transmissions, trans…something? He could get so excited about a pile of electronic junk.

Did he really believe she understood all that engineering terminology? She continued to nod as if she did. She zeroed in on his lips once again as he did that half smile thing he did so often. Actually he didn't do it often enough, to her liking.

She remembered how his lips felt that night during the surprise picnic he planned. They were just the slightest bit chapped or maybe sunburned; just the most delightful bit of warm when she explored them with her fingertips. Then his lips brushed her fingers, her hand…her mouth. Yes, at last, her mouth with those lips. They pressed against hers with a wonderful, squirm inducing pressure and a promise of things to come. And finally, ever so gently his tongue, his sweet soft tongue entered her mouth, tangling with hers. She could feel his breath. She needed his breath because hers had been taken away.

She made out with him like they were high school students on summer vacation. They were on a beach after all, complete with a beach blanket and torchlight. It was actually nice to enjoy his lips knowing that's where it ended. Well, she considered it nice. She had been content to kiss him for hours, and he at least was willing to kiss along, for the time being, hoping.

She guessed he hoped for a lot of things on that beach blanket. She doubted that any of those hopes included the abrupt end of their little vacation the very next morning, and the arrival of Shannon, the grief stricken psycho-bitch. She didn't want to revisit that time, when his lips were a line of pain as she screamed at him to just get away from her and he did. No, she didn't like remembering those tight lips. She blinked away that image and refocused on the now and his enticing lips.

Would he ever even attempt to kiss her again, after what she'd done? No, the next move would be hers. She would tell him that his were the only lips she wanted, the only lips that could awaken her from the slumber that was her life before. She would have to kiss him with the promise of better things to come. Yes, she would have to kiss his lips soon. It was a high priority.


End file.
